


Keep Your Friends Close

by lillyluna



Category: Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillyluna/pseuds/lillyluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Speedo photo shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly this isn't real.

“Not even hi dude? Weak.” Ryan mutters under his breath as he settles next to Michael by the blocks. He tugs at the straps of his goggles and fiddles with the waist of his suit and shakes out his arm.

“Hi.” Michael says.

“Fuck you.” Ryan mumbles.

“Whatever.” Michael shrugs and focuses back on the water.

Ryan had been looking forward to this shoot.

He loves LA. Loves how everything is always moving and how he’s now somehow able to go through the side doors of clubs and into the VIP section. How if he wants to he can call his agent and a dozen girls with tight dresses and questionable morals show up to party.

He likes how sometimes in LA he’s invisible.

He’d gotten to the pool and Michael had already been there. He’d waved to him across the deck and Michael had turned away.

Then Ryan had definitely felt invisible.

They make small talk about the weather and the temperature of the water because people are watching them. Ryan jokes about Michael’s orange cap and how he’d never thought he’d see him in UF colours but Michael doesn’t laugh back and Ryan gets fucking fed up.

It’s nothing like before and even when someone holds up a phone to take a picture for Speedo’s twitter account Michael keeps his entire body turned away from Ryan.

Ryan catches Michael in the locker rooms. They each have a dressing area but the locker rooms have the only showers and so they’re stuck there together.

Even though there’s fifteen rows of benches Ryan puts his towel down next to Mike’s bag.

“What the fuck man.” Michael drops his bag on the floor, “What’s your fucking problem?”

“What’s your problem?” Ryan repeats.

When they’d first met in Athens Michael had been so focused he hadn’t been any fun. Ryan had annoyed the ever-living fuck out of him until Michael had had no other choice but to talk to him. Repeating had always been the one thing Michael hadn’t been able to stand.

“There’s like eighteen benches. Pick another one.” Michael shoves Ryan’s towel to the floor.

“Free world.” Ryan says and he’s never used that line on anyone but Devon. He picks up his towel and deliberately puts it back next to Mike.

“You’re acting like a kid who’s mad he didn’t get invited to a birthday party.”

“You didn’t invite me to your party.” Ryan points out.

“That’s lame as fuck dude.” Michael rolls his eyes, “You were training.”

“I would’ve gone.”

“I didn’t want you there.” Michael admits. He zips his hoodie up half way and tugs on the sleeves a little. They still ride up, leaving his wrists bare.

“You really have that many friends that you can-“

“I’m not missing friends. I’m good.” Michael checks his phone, shoves it in the back pocket of his pants and grabs his bag. He doesn’t wave or says goodbye but simply walks away.

“Does Peter audition them?” Ryan calls out after him. He imagines Ryan Seacrest leading guys with gross beards and golf shirts to a panel of judges made up of Debbie Phelps, Peter and probably Bob. It makes him laughs. “Like so they don’t embarrass you or-“

“Fuck-“ Michael gives him the finger without turning around.

“Do they fit into poker games?” Ryan laughs harder, “Do they believe in your waitress rescue program?“

“What the fuck have you done?” Michael turns around abruptly. His fists are clenched. 

“Trained like-” Ryan stops laughing once he notices exactly how angry Michael is. He’s pushed him too far.

“You’re stuck.” Michael runs both of his hands through his hair. “Like fuck it’s so hard to watch you like…” He groans.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Never mind.”

“No talk.” Ryan insists.

“No, I’m done.”


	2. Barcelona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what happened at the photo shoot in LA, Michael and Ryan had to meet in Barcelona.

“I knew it wasn’t really hurt.” 

It’s the first thing Ryan can think to say as he stands awkwardly in the middle of his hotel room staring at Michael who stands equally as awkward near the door without the foot brace he’s been hobbling in all week. 

“Oh yeah.” Michael glances down at his foot glad for an excuse to not have to stare into Ryan’s eyes. 

“You didn’t wanna swim? That it?” Ryan asks. 

Ryan’s holding a shirt, a shirt he’d been folding, a shirt he was going to put back in his suitcase. He walks to his suitcase, his body and his brain slowly synching up again after the initial shock of Michael walking into his room. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Michael shrugs it off. 

“Glad you’re not hurt.” Ryan places the folded shirt into his suitcase and pulls out a hoodie he has no need for. He puts it on anyways. 

Now, Ryan has nothing left to pretend to do. His side of the room is immaculate and he has nothing left to keep himself busy. He toes off his shoe and puts his foot back into it before picking at something on his t-shirt. 

“You gotta stop.” Michael finally says. 

“Stop what?” 

“Like… Talking about it.” Michael says frustrated, “All that fucking feel good shit about missing me it’s gotta- Like you’re making it worst.”   
“What?” Ryan uncharacteristically sneers, “Scared I might say something else?” 

The way Michael sets his jaw tells Ryan it’s exactly what he’s afraid of. 

“Fuck.” Ryan shakes his head, “You know I like… I’ve been here before.” He points between Michael and himself, “Like you comin’ back and us talkin’ and…” He trails off, “Fuck you.” 

“I need you to stop.” 

“Whatever,” Ryan shakes his head, “You’re so scared of-“ 

“Have you ever looked on the internet for pictures of you?” Michael snaps, “D’you ever think when you were in Gainesville that making out with people on the swim team when people were taking pictures was a bad idea?” 

Ryan just stares. 

“There’s pictures of you.” Michael keeps going angrily, “Kissing guys and there’s fucking proof Ryan.” 

“I’m not ashamed.” Ryan says proudly, “You are.” 

“Those pictures can’t be there.” 

“They’re not my pictures dude. Like no one cares about them except… How fucking long did you have to spend googling me for those to come up?” 

“Peter found them.” 

Ryan just laughs. 

“It can’t come out.” Michael almost begs, “You come out and then that makes me look-“ 

“Gay.” Ryan finishes. 

“I can’t-“ 

“I know.” Ryan closes his eyes and tries not to go back to the night they’d broken up in London. The night he’d tried to drown out by dragging Devon out clubbing night after the night. The night he’d tried to drown out with his tv show. The night he’d tried to drown out by swimming too many laps and then when that hadn’t worked by trying to stay out of the water. The night he’d tried to forget about with way too many shots but that had always come back to him the next day along with the hangover.   
“It was too fucking soon.” Michael yells, “We didn’t have to break up if you would just-“ 

“Hide?” Ryan offers, “Not gonna.” 

“Fuck dude it’s like I didn’t get hurt.”

“Oh fuck you.” Ryan finally stands up, “You didn’t get hurt, what the fuck did I do to hurt you? How many fucking girls have you ‘dated’ since fucking London. Fuck you had Megan during London, pretending to be all up on your… Then that chick from the beach and that other… Now the golf chick which like do you call the paps on yourself for those pics to leak or does she do it?” 

“I didn’t want to start a fight.” Michael says when Ryan stops to take a breath, he’s still standing in exactly the same spot. “I just wanted to ask-“ 

“In LA.” Ryan interrupts again, “You laughed ‘cause you said I’m stuck. You’re fucking stuck Mike. Who the fuck are you right now?” 

“Who the fuck are you right now?” 

“I’m me.” Ryan answers simply, “I swim and I’m doing good and I’m still here. You’re what? Playing golf and fucking strippers? Who the fuck are you?” 

“She’s not a stripper-“ Michael argues

“All of this ain’t you.” Ryan ignores Michael’s defense. 

“I’m not coming back.” Michael says firmly, “I’m done with swimming.” 

“This isn’t about swimming dumbass.” Ryan mimics Michael’s tone, “It’s about me an’ you.”

“There’s nothing.” Michael says with the intent to hurt, “Fucking nothing-“

“Yo this is my room.” Ryan reminds him, “You can fuck right out.” 

But Michael doesn’t leave and he doesn’t keep talking and it’s the same as being in the pool back in LA when everything had sucked. Ryan figures it makes sense for Michael to show up now that his life’s back on track and he kind of knows what his next move will be. That life would find a way to try and drag him back to the place full of suck he’d been living in for almost a year. 

“When you jack off.” Ryan looks straight at him, “Are you fucking her or am I fucking you?” 

Ryan regrets saying it because it would have hurt less to just let Michael walk away or to kick him out but he’s on taper so he can’t make himself hurt by swimming laps. 

Michael doesn’t answer. He stares at the ugly carpet of the hotel room, scuffing his foot against the paisley pattern. 

“What would it take?” Michael offers.

“You’re gonna pay me to stop?” Ryan laughs, “That’s…” 

“No to like be back.” 

“What?” Ryan asks and he figures it might be the first time he’s the one who’s confused. 

“With you…” Michael stammers, “Like what would it-“

“You’re fucking with me?” Ryan sneers and takes a step back, like he’s putting distance between himself and an offer that’s meant to hurt. 

“No.” Michael says, “I miss it.” 

After a minute Ryan walks back closer and sits down on his bed aware that Michael’s eyes are following his every step. 

“If you want me,” Ryan shrugs because it’s hurt too long to be snarky, “I’m right here.” 

Michael walks with a limp and he doesn’t know where to sit or stand to be closer to Ryan. Straddling him seems too forward and he’s too tall to reach him standing up. Michael sits down next to Ryan and does nothing. 

“Dude.” Ryan laughs, “It hasn’t been that long come on.” 

Ryan nudges Michael’s knee with his own and smiles at him, his eyes crinkling. Michael glances down but he lifts one of his legs up on the bed behind Ryan and grabs Ryan by the t-shirt before lying down and pulling Ryan on top of him. 

Ryan’s weight on him is familiar and Ryan’s warmth is comforting. For the first time in a year filled with jets and parties and golf courses he feels like he’s home. 

Ryan kisses Michael first, brushing the side of Michael’s face with his thumb and tangling his fingers in Michael’s hair. He nips at his lips before sucking on them. 

“I can’t.” Michael pushes a hand against Ryan’s chest, he slides from underneath him, “It’s the same, I can’t.”   
Ryan looks like he’s been kicked and Michael can’t watch his face any longer. Without an explanation or another word he hobbles out of the room closing the door behind him. 

*

The next morning as he’s getting his stuff ready to fly home for three hours before he flies to Vegas for a bachelor party he catches Conor in the hotel lobby. 

“Dude headin’ off?” Conor clasps him on the back, “You gonna be home when I get back?” 

“Probably.” Michael shrugs, “Just up to Vegas for the weekend.” 

“Sucks you can’t stay.” Conor says, “Ry’s swimming four finals tonight.” 

“No he’s not.” 

“Yeah he is.” Conor insists, “I can’t even tell you why, he’s gonna be in too much pain to do anything for his birthday.” He shakes his head. 

“Why’s he doing that?” Michael tries his hardest to look like he’s disapproving of Ryan’s life choices.

“I dunno.” Conor shrugs, “Why does Ry do anything? He just likes the pain I guess. Anyways, safe trip dude, I gotta go.” 

Michael knows exactly why Ryan’s swimming four finals. His thumb hovers over the call button on his phone but as he goes to call, the man at the counter interrupts. 

“Cutting your trip short?” He asks probably seeing that the hotel reservations are still booked for two more days.

“Um yeah.” Michael says offhandedly, “I have to go home.” 

“If there isn’t anything else we can do for you sir.” The man hands him a sheet of paper, “Everything is settled here. Have a safe trip home.” 

Michael thinks of leaving a message for Ryan, an apology or a phone number or an invitation to Vegas or Baltimore or wherever really. An IOU for being a shitty person. However, he just grabs his bill, shoulders his bag and walks out to the car waiting outside.


End file.
